


An Artist's Soul

by mdseiran



Category: Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Gen, Hobbit Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 07:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mdseiran/pseuds/mdseiran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Richard, art would always be a little bit magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Artist's Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [himlayan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/himlayan/gifts).



> Written for [this prompt in the kink meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=5811521#t5811521): 
> 
> _This OP loves to draw, and loves that Richard fanboys a bit about John Howe and Alan Lee (The Hobbit's concept artists) in some of his interviews, and the two artists pretty much just interact with Peter Jackson and draw up what he needs/wants, and try to stay off set (Peter's jokingly called his lot of illustrators "shy artists, oh dear, oh dear" in the first production video, and Richard's mentioned somewhere that John or Alan kept asking permission if they could enter the set, which he found to be weird and unnecessary because they're the ones who dreamt up all that shit in the first place)._  
> 
> _I'd just really love fic of Richard having a bit of a frustrated artist in himself, viewing drawing/painting as something he'd always wanted to do but never had the knack or time for. He seeks out these two in-between takes, and in their studio/creative space, HE'S the shy one this time, asking for permission to enter, and if he's being a bother, then just watching them work, all starry-eyed and asking enthusiastic questions about the creative process, and the artists being very flattered and finding him adorable and indulging his curiosity._  
> 
> Full prompt at the link. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own.

He stumbled into the workroom quite by accident.

The studio was large, incredibly so, and he spent all day just wandering about getting a feel for the place. He'd be spending quite a lot of time there, after all, and it wouldn't do for him to be late to anything simply because he got lost on the way there. And it wasn't a chore -- peeking at the sets, watching the WETA staff working their magic, taking his first baby steps into the world of Middle Earth, a world he never thought he'd be a part of, not in a million years.

But all of that paled in comparison.

What he noticed first was that every surface in the room was completely covered with sheets of paper. With four large tables sitting right in the middle, that was quite a lot of paper. Curiosity got the better of him and he walked towards the sheets, and he must've let out some kind of sound because a head appeared through a door to his left that he hadn't noticed before.

"Hello, what can we do for you?" the man asked, smiling in a friendly manner.

"Ah, sorry," Richard mumbled, smiling a bit sheepishly, "I was just looking around, I didn't mean to intrude." He hesitated, glancing at the door he'd come through and the sketch resting before him on the table, and then walked up to the man with his hand outstretched. "I'm Richard Armitage."

The man's eyes lit up as he eagerly grabbed Richard's hand and shook it. "Oy, Alan!" he yelled, and a voice answered him from the other room. "Come out here, you'll never guess who I'm talking to!"

Richard felt slightly awkward, especially since the man was still holding onto his hand. Another man, who was Alan no doubt, appeared through the door and his hand was finally released. "Look, Alan, it's Thorin!"

Alan positively beamed at him. "Oh yes, I can see why Peter chose him." Richard thought his flush might set his hair on fire. "I'm Alan Lee," came the introduction, "and this is John Howe."

And then it was Richard who was vigorously shaking Alan's hand. "Oh my God, I am such a _huge_ fan, honestly, it's such an honor to meet you both." He was aware of the fact he was babbling, but the two artists whose work he had admired for so long didn't seem to mind.

"We don't often get visitors," John told him as the two were giving him the tour of their domain. "But I suppose we are a bit out of the way." 

The tour was taking a bit longer than it probably needed to, for Richard constantly found himself pausing in front of one sketch or another and staring at it in awe, and John and Alan were only too happy to describe what each piece he found himself fancying was for. "Just rough sketches, nothing final," they'd say, and it left Richard in complete awe, for there was nothing _rough_ about any of these pieces that he could see.

It was the phone ringing that saved the artists from more questions, for if Peter hadn't called them for a meeting, Richard reflected wryly, he probably would've talked their ears off all day. He walked with them to the building's exit, pressed their hands once more, and went to his hotel with scenes from Middle Earth exploding behind his eyelids.

That night, he started on Thorin's diary, with Erebor's halls clear as truth in his mind and beneath his pen.

* * *

"I've asked our lead artists to join us for this meeting," Peter began, and Richard smiled as John and Alan walked in with their arms full of sketchpads and loose sheets. "John, Alan, this is-"

"Richard, yes, we've met," John said, smiling brightly at Richard as they took their seats. Peter looked bemused, and Richard ducked his head a little in embarrassment.

"Well, that's alright then," the director said with a shrug. "Let's talk about Thorin, shall we?"

Peter's vision for Thorin was one that jived very much with what Richard felt, and it set him at ease even further. Talk flowed easily, and Peter, Fran and Philippa seemed to accept his tentative input with enthusiasm. It emboldened him and he spoke freely of his ideas after that.

John and Alan were mostly quiet, but their hands were anything but. From the corner of his eyes, Richard could see their pencils continuously flying over a page. It was fascinating, and a little bit distracting as well, because he was immensely curious about what they were drawing. But they were here to discuss his part, and he sternly made himself pay attention to every word that was said.

"I actually like the idea of keeping the beard as it is in the books," he said in response to Fran's question, "maybe a bit shorter, to accommodate the fighting?"

Alan cleared his throat. "Actually," he said, "John and I worked on a few more designs for Thorin last night."

That got everyone's attention. "I thought you'd pretty much settled on his look?" Philippa inquired, and John lowered his head and rubbed at his cheek with a lead-stained finger.

"Well, we had, but we kind of- had some new ideas? Here, wait," and he began to rummage among the sketches, finally tugging out several pages and placing them on the table. Everyone got out of their chairs and leaned over, and Richard's breath caught in his throat.

These sketches had obviously not been made on the same day. Their first sketches for Thorin showed him with a long beard, looking stern and unforgiving. His beard and hair were richly decorated, and his armor looked fit for a king. But the sketches evolved from there, little by little, and the newest sketches looked nothing at all like their first rendition of Thorin Oakenshield.

For one, it was most definitely Richard's own face staring up at him from the pages.

Gone was the incredibly long beard, he noticed with a slight pang, but even he could see that the somewhat shorter beard was a much better look for him. Most of the trinkets had been taken out of the beard, although there was still some metal woven in there. His hair, too, had been simplified, and they had added braids on both sides of his face. He looked younger, more Richard's age. He looked less like a king, and more like a battle-worn warrior.

 _Yes_ , Richard thought, _I could be this Thorin_.

Peter was discussing the wardrobe with Alan. "Maybe we can strip some of this heavy armor away," he suggested, pointing at the intricate chest piece in particular. "Remember, they're roaming. Armor like that seems damn inconvenient."

Richard bit his tongue, and felt a light tap on his hand. He glanced to his left and found John smiling at him. "Go on, what is it?" the artist prodded encouragingly, and Richard felt everyone's eyes on him.

"Maybe," he began hesitantly, "the armor should be as stripped down as possible?" He glanced up at Peter, and found interest in his eyes. "Thorin isn't really a king," he continued, warming to the topic, "he's in exile, without a crown. He's taking care of his people, and would need to be travel-ready. I thought maybe lighter materials, maybe some extra fur around the collar. And a shorter beard," he added as he wistfully traced the long beard of the earlier sketches. 

Fran looked pleased with his description, and John was already busy sketching this new version of Thorin. Richard watched, mesmerized, as his vision started to come alive.

Peter was standing behind John, nodding as he roughly sketched in the details. "Yes, I see what you mean," he told Richard, smiling. "We'll go with that then, yeah?" There was agreement all around the table. "Can we see some new sketches by tomorrow?" 

"That should be fine," Alan nodded.

"Right then, that's all for today. Good job, guys."

John tucked the pencil behind his ear and tore out the rough sketch, tilting his head left and right as he looked at it, mumbling quietly to himself. He finally nodded and thrust the paper at Richard. "Keep that one," he offered with a smile, and Richard accepted the precious piece of art with a sense of reverence. He was still in a bit of a daze when he reached his hotel, gazing at the sketch as he sipped a glass of wine.

Thorin stared back at him: determined, run-down, travel and battle-weary, the king in exile who was responsible for what little remained of his people.

It was a lot to live up to. Richard only hoped he could do him justice.

* * *

"I had this idea last night," Richard said as he bustled into the studio, "what if Thorin kept that oak branch that he used as a shield? Oh, hi, Peter," and he came to a stop as he noticed the director, who gave him a little wave from his perch next to Alan. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," Richard said, chagrined. "I'll come back later?"

Peter waved off his concern. "We were just chatting, no worries. What is this about Thorin's branch?"

"Oh, right." Richard flushed a little. "Well, it does save his life. I thought maybe he could keep it, somehow." Richard fell silent for a moment, struggling to find the words. He glanced at one of the new sketchpads lying on the table. "May I...?" he asked, and John quickly thrust one into his hand and gave him one of the pencils the man kept on him at all times. Richard smiled his thanks and flipped the pad open, quickly drawing a few lines as he stood bent over the table.

"Sorry, it doesn't look like much," he mumbled as he handed it to Peter, and then stood by as John joined the others and they all pored over his crappy straight lines. "It's, um, like a-"

"A vambrace," Alan interrupted, startling Richard. "Oh, yes, that's brilliant."

"Worn and polished," John continued, Alan nodding along.

Peter looked up at Richard. "Like a reminder of what he's lost and what the cost of greed is."

Richard felt a little weak in the knees and almost as if the table was all that was keeping him upright. He nodded slowly. They really got it, even from such a bad sketch.

"Alan, can you-" but Alan waved Peter silent.

"Already on it, go ahead and talk to WETA."

Peter smiled and made his way to the door. "Cheers, lads," he said in parting, and Richard mumbled his own goodbyes and made to follow him.

"Hold on, hold on," Alan said, and Richard turned back around. "C'mere, sit down won't you?" Confused, Richard took a seat next to Alan. "Now, this part at the knuckles here, how do you see it?"

For the next few hours, Richard sat next to Alan, painting his picture with words even as Alan sketched it with his pencil. John came over when they were done and showed them a new sketch of Thorin. He was in a defensive stance, the Oakenshield prominently displayed. Richard gasped.

"You have an artist's soul," John said, gently patting Richard's shoulder as he stared at the drawing. The words tugged at him.

"I always wanted to learn to draw," he confessed, a little surprised at himself for divulging that, "but I don't really have the aptitude for art."

Alan tutted at him and John shook his head. "Art manifests itself in different ways, lad," Alan told him, "and you, you have a way with words. Tolkien could draw, yes, but the images he painted with his words were far grander than anything we do here."

Richard remembered that when he wrote in Thorin's diary that night, and every night after that.

* * *

From the very first time he had visited, John and Alan had insisted that he could just walk right in whenever he felt like it. But Richard always knocked first anyway before pushing open the door just slightly. John and Alan blinked up from their work as one, and Richard suddenly felt shy.

"Sorry, I can tell you're busy. I brought you some coffee and sandwiches, they had them outside. I'll leave them here for you, alright?"

John leaned back in his chair and stretched, and Richard could hear his joints popping. "Nonsense, you're not disturbing us, come on in."

He hesitated a moment. "Are you sure? I can come back later..." But his concerns were brushed off, and his customary chair cleared for him. He gushed over the Mirkwood sketch they were working on, each of them drawing the same scene, one in red and the other in blue. "This is the first time I've seen this technique," he mumbled. Alan and John shared a pleased smile.

"Here, put these on," Alan said, handing him a pair of red-and-blue paper glasses that made Richard feel strangely like a young, excited kid, going to see his first 3D film. John held out a different sketch, also rendered in red and blue, and Richard grinned delightedly. "Amazing," he breathed, his fingers hovering over the paper, tracing the lines.

He enjoyed spending his (precious little) free time here, in this space. John and Alan were always kind enough to indulge his questions about their methods and their thought processes, and in turn they quizzed him relentlessly on Thorin and the diary he was keeping. But there was also plenty of silence where they would work and Richard would watch them, or use the time to write down more notes for Thorin. Or sometimes, like today, he would walk quietly around the studio and admire the art hanging on the walls while the artists continued their work.

One of the props that used to stand in a corner was gone today, but there were two cardboard boxes stacked there instead. The top one was open, and Richard could see it was full of paper. Curious, he stepped closer, and picked up the page lying on top.

The other two men looked up, startled by his audible gasp. "Alright there?" John inquired, and Richard turned to them with several sketches in his hands. "Why are these just lying here?" he asked in disbelief, turning back to the box to dig through it. "Is the bottom one full of art too?" he asked, incredulous.

"Well, yes," Alan shrugged. "Those are older sketches, or concepts we abandoned because they wouldn't have worked."

Richard sputtered. "But these are _beautiful_."

"We're not throwing them away," John said, "we just need to store them so that we have enough space for the pieces we actually need."

It seemed like sacrilege to Richard, all those brilliant sketches that might never be seen by anyone else, and he said as much.

"Well, do you show your diaries to anyone?" Alan asked him, and Richard went red at the very idea.

"What? No, no, those aren't fit to be seen by anyone else," he said with a chuckle. Alan and John shared a knowing glance.

"We happen to disagree, actually," John replied, "but regardless, we feel the same way about those sketches. They're not quite up to par."

Richard looked again at the sketches in his hands. If these weren't "up to par", he thought, then what was?

* * *

The actual shooting of the film was hectic. 

Two hundred and sixty-six days seemed like a lot when he was signing the contract, but before he knew it they were past the halfway mark. His days were rigorously scheduled, and he barely had time for a glass of wine every night before he fell into the deep sleep of the exhausted. He didn't get much chance to visit John and Alan, and so he was always pleased when they would come tentatively looking around the set. He made a point of always going to them to greet them, and it made him happy that they seemed just as eager to see him.

But before he knew it, the days were up, and he was at the wrap party, nursing some champagne with the crew, and feeling a weird melancholy settle over him. He could see it in the rest of the cast as well, a certain disbelief that they were done and leaving this magnificent world behind.

There was a touch on his elbow, and he smiled at John and Alan, who had materialized next to him. "We have something for you," John said, and a small bubble of quiet formed around them. Richard knew the others were watching him (Martin had actually crept up next to him to see) as Alan handed over a simple manila envelope. He put down his glass and carefully opened it.

"You lucky bastard," Martin muttered next to him.

They were sketches, mostly of him, and Richard flushed and lowered his head to hide his pleased, embarrassed little smile. "When did you do these?" he asked softly.

"Oh, we started that very first day," Alan responded cheerfully. "Couldn't resist, you know."

One of the pages slipped from his fingers and he frantically reached for it. Martin got to it first, however, and whistled. "Fuck, that's amazing," he said, smiling at the artists. "I mean it."

"Let's see it then," Aidan piped up, and before he knew it the sketch (of him writing in his diary while in their studio) was being passed around and admired. John and Alan were showered with compliments and bore it with good grace and pleased smiles.

"Wait though, why is Richard the only one getting these?" someone asked, and some good-natured ribbing and teasing followed. But Richard had reached the last of the pages: that first sketch of Thorin with his Oakenshield. 

_We share an artist's soul_ , they had written beneath it.

"Thank you both," he said, liberating his sketch from James and carefully putting them back in the envelope. He gave John a hug, and then Alan, and if he clutched them a bit too hard, neither of them mentioned it. "I'll treasure these," he finally said, smiling at the pair.

"Yes," John smiled back at him, "we know you will."


End file.
